


Blip

by yeaka



Category: Tron (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:46:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25474837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: A seemingly meaningless moment.
Relationships: Edward Dillinger Jr./Sam Flynn
Kudos: 7





	Blip

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Tron or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Sam’s “apartment” is pitiful but discrete. The floor’s too cold, the walls are unsightly, and the furniture is limited, but at least the couch is comfortable. The pillow Edward has stuffed under his head is from the bed, though they didn’t make it there—rarely do—more often than not, Edward shows up at the makeshift door, and as soon as the crinkled metal’s risen high enough, Sam pulls him under it. Then they fumble against the nearest wall and it rattles like a tin roof, or else they just stumble into a chair or even over the coffee table. Marv barks as though his owner’s under attack before quickly losing interest. Edward sheds every scrap of expensive clothing before Sam can clumsily rip it off him, because Edward’s had to take too many loose buttons into the tailor. They always look at him like _how did this happen_ , and he stares back at them, hardly about to admit that he takes booty calls from a barbarian. 

It feels weird to call it that, even in his head. He shudders and shakes the thought away, tries to shake all lingering traces of _Sam Flynn_ away, even though he’s sprawled across the cushions in Sam’s “living room.” The pillow smells like Sam. There’s no blanket to accompany it. Or clothes. He tugged his boxers back on and didn’t bother with the rest. 

He had a brainwave. Sleeping with Sam often does that to him. He has no idea why. Sam’s a brilliant programmer, maybe even more so than Edward is, though Edward would never admit it out loud. But they don’t talk about those sorts of things. They barely talk at all. Maybe just being so _close_ to another genius is enough to stimulate Edward’s brain. 

He taps out the string of code into an email directed at himself. If he’d brought a tablet, he’d just get to work testing his new theory on the spot. It wouldn’t take too long. Maybe a couple of hours. Sam probably wouldn’t say anything if he stayed the night.

Sam might smile smugly at him. Might tell him to stop working so much. Then Edward would coolly ask if Sam was _ready to be his boss yet_ , and Sam would retreat and maybe scowl.

Sam’s in a good mood tonight. He’s on the other side of the ridiculously low coffee table, crouching down, phone open, focused on his yapping dog. Marv chases his tail in a circle, rolls onto his back, then leaps up again and tries to head-butt Sam, who grins fondly and keeps filming. For all his uncouth and _average_ tendencies, he doesn’t seem the sort of man to be easily distracted by meaningless pet videos. 

He also doesn’t seem like the sort of person Edward would keep going back to, but that ship’s sailed. It doesn’t help that Sam hasn’t donned anything more than boxers either, and he looks absolutely _scrumptious_ in the dim light of too tiny lamps. All the smooth muscles in his back ripple as he leans over, tensing when he shifts, washed a warm orange-yellow with a few pink highlights from the lingering flush, not to mention the red grooves of Edward’s teeth and nails. Shallow claw tracks line Sam’s shoulder blades, round suction marks littering his throat. This is one of the few places Edward doesn’t hold back. Just loses his cool. And Sam gives worse than he gets; Edward looks like he’s been ravaged by a wild animal. 

Maybe that’s why he keeps coming back. Few people can make him _ache_ the way that Sam does. Sam really doesn’t know his own strength. Or his own intelligence. He suddenly glances over, and Edward quickly turns back to his screen, pretending he was never mesmerized by Sam’s sweat-slicked body. He’s starting to get hard again and casually lifts one thigh to hide it. He can feel Sam’s grin boring into him. 

“Doing chores for ENCOM, even now?”

“It’s called a job. Most of us actually put work into them.”

Instead of the snort Edward expects, Sam hums a note of understanding and returns his full attention to Marv. Edward isn’t jealous. 

He is curious. He asks, “What’re you doing?”

“Work.”

Edward rolls his eyes. Sam’s screen flickers off in his peripherals, and then Sam’s standing up, stretching with a yawn, and Edward’s watching him again, drinking in every little detail.

 _It’s just a hook up._ Nothing more. Sam was a dangerous choice. Edward knows that. Reminds himself all the time. 

Sam’s wandering closer. He perches on the edge of the couch and bends down, hovering just a few inches from Edward’s face: threatening him with an impending kiss. 

Edward sighs. He should’ve gone home. Should be perfecting his new designs for tomorrow’s board meeting. Sam says, “Just one more. No strings.”

Sometimes Edward feels like they’re trapped in a cat’s cradle of their fathers’ strings, both holding different cards and neither tipping their hand. 

But he tells himself he’s just fucking another absurdly handsome rich kid with too much untapped potential, and he pulls Sam down for a kiss.


End file.
